Nicholson’s funeral was taking place as we marched out of Delhi, at daybreak on the morning of the 24th September.  It was a matter of regret to me that I was unable to pay a last tribute of respect to my loved and honoured friend and Commander by following his body to the grave, but I could not leave the column.  That march through Delhi in the early morning light was a gruesome proceeding.  Our way from the Lahore gate by the Chandni Chauk led through a veritable city of the dead; not a sound was to be heard but the falling of our own footsteps; not a living creature was to be seen.  Dead bodies were strewn about in all directions, in every attitude that the death-struggle had caused them to assume, and in every stage of decomposition.  We marched in silence, or involuntarily spoke in whispers, as though fearing to disturb those ghastly remains of humanity.  The sights we encountered were horrible and sickening to the last degree.  Here a dog gnawed at an uncovered limb; there a vulture, disturbed by our approach from its loathsome meal, but too completely gorged to fly, fluttered away to a safer distance.  In many instances the positions of the bodies were appallingly life-like.  Some lay with their arms uplifted as if beckoning, and, indeed, the whole scene was weird and terrible beyond description.  Our horses seemed to feel the horror of it as much as we did, for they shook and snorted in evident terror.  The atmosphere was unimaginably disgusting, laden as it was with the most noxious and sickening odours.

It is impossible to describe the joy of breathing the pure air of the open country after such a horrible experience; but we had not escaped untainted.  That night we had several cases of cholera, one of the victims being Captain Wilde, the Commandant of the 4th Punjab Infantry.  He was sent back to Delhi in a hopeless condition, it was thought, but he recovered, and did excellent work at the head of his fine regiment during the latter part of the campaign.

After a march of eleven miles we reached Ghazi-uddin nagar, to find the place deserted.  We halted the next day.  The baggage animals were out of condition after their long rest at Delhi; and it was necessary to overhaul their loads and get rid of the superfluous kit and plunder which the followers had brought away with them.  We were accompanied on our march by a few enterprising civilians, who had found their way into Delhi the day after we took possession of the palace.  Amongst them was Alfred Lyall,[2] a schoolfellow of mine at Eton.  He was on his way to take up the appointment of Assistant-Magistrate at Bulandshahr, where he was located when the Mutiny broke out.  As we rode along he gave me a most interesting little history of his personal experiences during the early days of May, from the time when the first symptoms of the coming storm were felt, until that when the surrounding country rose en masse, and he and those with him had to seek shelter at Meerut.  I should like to repeat his story for the benefit of my readers, but I refrain, as it would lose so much by my telling; and I hope that some day Sir Alfred Lyall may be induced to tell his own story in the picturesque and attractive language which is so well known and so much appreciated by the reading public.